One Gold Ring
by sadlady
Summary: Doyle comes back from holiday needing another break to recover


I don't own these lovely men. Thanks to Brian Clemens for inventing them. I just take them out of my toy box and play with them now and again.

Thanks also to my lovely beta who picks up my errors.

**One Gold Ring**

It was the usual Monday morning hubbub in the rest room. The weekend duty agents had left after the shortest briefing ever. Absolutely nothing had happened to pique the interest of the CI5 controller. It was hot and sultry for the time of year and had been like that for several weeks now. Anson reckoned all the bad guys were on holiday and told anyone who would listen. Roberts quoted George Cowley. "The calm before the storm", was the phrase he used at times like this.

Murph and Jax were engrossed in the daily paper. Jax was trying to read the sports pages, while Murph was attempting the quick crossword. Other agents were milling around making tea or coffee and just catching up with each other. It was seldom they had the luxury of waiting around.

The general atmosphere was friendly and casual. Most present had some comment or other about the weather or the weekend. Random comments floated around the room like the dust motes in the air.

"We had a great time, took a picnic", "Offered 'im five grand, way over what the car was worth", "Got down to the beach and just slept", "Chose the wallpaper but she's no idea what colour paint she wants". It was the idle chitchat of a group of men on a Monday morning.

Bodie bounded in bright eyed and bushy tailed! He had spent a great weekend with Claire, at a rather grand hotel in the New Forest. It was his reward to himself, after a depressing obbo in Newcastle. One week stuck in a seedy little rooming house, watching a nondescript little man who supposedly had contacts in high places in a drug dealing cartel. Bodie had been working with the local police who assured him that there was nothing in the rumour. After twenty four hours he agreed with them, but Cowley had said to stay and check out everything. So he had and nearly died of boredom.

"Mornin' all," he boomed across the crowded room. "Everyone OK? Gossip? News?" The other agents waved or called over a greeting. "Anyone seen Doyle? He was due back from leave today."

"Asleep in the back room," answered Murph. "His flight didn't get in until midnight and by the time he'd got through customs it was quicker for him to come 'ere and crash out."

Bodie shouldered his way through the milling throng, grabbing two mugs of tea in passing. He kicked open the door to the smaller room and called out to the sleeping figure on the couch.

"Wake up sunshine. Back to work today. And how was Spain?" He stopped short as he got a close look at his partner.

For someone who had spent ten days abroad on holiday in Spain, Doyle looked dreadful! He rolled over and sat up. His skin, although tanned, was sheened with sweat, and his large green eyes were fever bright. His shirt, normally half undone, was buttoned almost to the neck, and he was wearing a thick zipper jacket as well.

"'Ello mate," he rasped, "good to see you. How was Newcastle?"

Bodie just stared. "Ray you look rotten! How long have you been like this? What is it? The flu? Tummy bug? Or have you picked up something more exotic?" he said, his blue eyes anxious.

"No, nothing like that at all," said his partner hastily. "Just a summer cold. Might go and see the doc if we're not busy today." He got up from the sofa and gratefully took the mug of hot tea from Bodie.

Together, they wandered into the restroom. The hubbub died down when the other agents caught sight of Doyle. He did look pathetic, his small frame hunched up, his arms wrapped around his chest, and even his curly hair somehow dragging him down.

Anson cackled, "you're supposed to come back rested after a holiday mate. Not look ten times worse than before you went. What did you get up to? Couldn't leave the ladies alone huh?" Doyle's comfortable way with women was in direct contract to Anson's, who was frequently rebuffed in his attempts to woo the fairer sex.

The famous Doyle temper never surfaced. He didn't even comment. He just didn't feel like it.

"Cut it out Anson," called Bodie. "Can't you see he's picked up a bug or something?"

Anson leered over at Doyle. "One of them special bugs is it Doyle; need to go to a special clinic do we?" he said nastily.

Any further verbal exchange was cut short by the entrance of George Cowley.

The ex-army major quietened the room with a glance. He looked around at the elite force he commanded. Although he didn't like keeping them on standby when it was so quiet, he knew in their line of work, events could erupt in minutes.

"Good morning gentlemen I hope you all had a good weekend," he began. "It looks like it'll be another quiet couple of days, so make the most of it. There are no issues that require our assistance, so let's get on with the housekeeping. There's no excuse to shirk duties, so I'll expect all outstanding reports to be finished; those of you due to meet with Macklin, make the appointments please. Roberts and Anson, you both need to book in for arms testing. Bodie, report on Newcastle today please, and Betty will not type it for you! Take the opportunity gentlemen to catch up. Tomorrow is another day!"

His eyes swept around the room. "Doyle, my office now, please".

Doyle groaned. "No doc visit for me then," he whispered to Bodie. "Wonder what he wants me for."

Bodie offered his partner a helping hand. "I'll come with you mate. Persuade 'im that you need to see a doctor first. Then I'm going to speak to Anson, nasty little prick."

Doyle waved his hand tiredly. "Nah, leave him. I know what's up, and it's my own fault. I'll get it sorted later." He looked at Bodie and laughed weakly. "It's not catching, not life threatening and not from good livin". C'mon let's go and see what the Cow wants."

The two young agents made their way along the corridor to George Cowley's office. They walked into the large outer room, where the ever present Betty held sway. She glanced up at the pair of them and waved them through into the small office. As they passed, she touched Doyle lightly on the arm.

"Ray, are you OK? You look a bit grim, for someone who's been on their holidays."

Doyle smiled down at her. "Nah, I'm OK, ta. Must've picked up something a couple of days ago. It'll pass."

Cowley already had three large whiskies poured. He motioned the men to sit and nodded towards the drinks.

"Far too early in the day to start, but you Doyle, seem in particular need of a good malt. What is wrong laddie? You don't look well at all."

Bodie looked across at his partner and was surprised to see Doyle beginning to blush.

"It's nothing sir. If you can spare me for a while I'll just go and see the doc for some pills or something."

Cowley looked hard at his agent. "Yes laddie that will be fine. Bodie, take him down to Brompton General, and ask for Mr Grant. He's the agency consultant and is on call to us. Ask him to send a report to me as well."

Doyle looked up hurriedly. "Oh, no sir, I'll go to my own GP. Seems a shame to bother a busy consultant. I'll just leave work early today and get round to the surgery in Camden . . ."

"You will go to Brompton now and see Mr Grant, Doyle. There's to be no discussion. Call in when you get back. It is our responsibility to you as CI5 agents that you get immediate medical help when you need it, and from the looks of you, you certainly do!"

Bodie and Doyle left the office. Doyle looked even more dejected than ever. They walked out and picked up Bodie's car from the car park. Doyle got in, wincing a little as he did. The sharp hiss of breath did not go unnoticed by Bodie. Doyle very carefully pulled the seatbelt across his chest, holding it away from his body as he did.

Bodie's eyes narrowed. He didn't want to press the point, but Doyle was very obviously in pain and unwell.

"Are you sure it's not serious", he asked his friend. "You're all bundled up as if it's cold. We're having a heat wave mate. Did you get in a fight with someone? That's why you want to see your own doc isn't it? Idiot!"

Doyle half turned in the seat. "No I did not get in a fight. Yes I am cold, and it's really nothing to worry about. I think I need some painkillers . . ." his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. "Take me to the hospital please mate. I really don't feel too well." And with that Doyle passed out!

Bodie thanked the gods for his driver training and cursed London's clogged streets. He drove as fast as he could through the London traffic, cutting up other road users, earning insults from cab and bus drivers alike. Eventually he reached the Brompton Hospital, and without bothering to find a parking spot, he brought the car to a stop outside the Accident and Emergency department. He jumped out of the car, calling to a porter for a wheelchair. Waving his ID card at an approaching parking attendant, he ran round to the passenger side and pulled the door open. Doyle was still out for the count, and looked awful.

The porter returned with a wheelchair, and the two men carefully lifted Doyle out of the car and into the chair. Quickly they wheeled him into the treatment area, where a small group of nurses and doctors were waiting. Bodie asked for Mr Grant, CI5's consultant on call, but was brushed aside by a very officious nurse, who, taking one look at Doyle's condition and pallor, assured him that Doyle was in the best possible hands. Bodie, too wound up to argue, went off to find a phone.

The call to CI5 HQ took a few minutes. Bodie gave Cowley the details of the journey, and added that Doyle was being seen immediately.

"Couldn't persuade them to get Grant, sir," he said. "I had to leave him in A&E. In his state, it seemed the best plan."

Cowley grunted. "Leave that to me Bodie. I'll contact him myself. Goodness knows if the PM wants an active and fit elite force on call, he has to ensure we can get medical treatment when we want it. I'll be in touch later."

Bodie made his way back to the cubicle where Doyle had been left. The curtains were drawn and all he could see was the constant movement of bodies, around the bed.

Wearily he sat down to wait. There wasn't much else he could do. He pondered on the exact nature of Doyle's illness. He admitted to feeling unwell, but had denied getting into any trouble while on holiday. Maybe it was just a bad tummy bug. However, Doyle had complained of being cold, and was definitely in pain, if getting in the car had caused him discomfort.

Bodie had little time to think, as the curtains to the cubicle were flung open, and a groggy Doyle wheeled away by a young nurse. At the same time Cowley arrived, accompanied by a very tall, grey haired man.

The man stopped the nurse, and picked up the notes from the bed. He read them through, and a smile began to play across his face.

"George, your young colleague has mild septicaemia, or blood poisoning. It's a nasty thing to get, so we'll keep him in overnight for observation. I'd like to try an alternative medication to that prescribed. I think we need to treat this aggressively, so a high strength antibiotic will be more suitable. He'll feel a little off colour for a few hours, but he'll be as right as rain later. Possibly rather sore for a few days, but nothing he can't cope with."

Grant looked across at Doyle and chuckled. "I'm glad to see you are feeling better Mr Doyle. I hope the symptoms ease soon."

Grant and Cowley walked off, deep in conversation. Bodie watched them go. Suddenly Cowley stopped and looked back at the retreating Doyle.

"He's what! The young fool! I'll . . ."

Grant whispered something into Cowley's ear which stopped his flow of invective immediately. Bodie was amazed as Cowley, threw back his head and laughed – a great rumble of sound, a sound of genuine amusement. The two men continued on their way, leaving Bodie completely nonplussed. He turned to follow the nurse, just in time to see the lift doors closing, whisking Doyle away to the safety of a ward.

Two hours later, Bodie was sitting beside Doyle's bed. He'd had to wait for visiting times before he could see his partner. It was with some relief he saw Doyle looking tired, but far more chipper than he had earlier in the day.

"'S good to see you mate, and I'm really sorry for puttin' you through all this," said Doyle. "I'll be out tomorrow and straight back to work."

Bodie eyed his partner closely. "It's all very well sunshine, but what exactly landed you in here? No one here will tell me – I'm not family – and Betty hasn't contacted your parents because she says it's not serious enough. Shame they didn't see you pass out. Frightened me." he added sourly.

Doyle sighed and closed his eyes. By way of reply, he slowly pushed the bedclothes down to reveal his chest. Bodie just looked. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes began to twinkle with suppressed laughter.

The right side of Doyle's chest hair had been shaved off, leaving an expanse of reddened, inflamed skin, shiny and tight with infection. In the middle of that area was his nipple, swollen and dark. Through that was a small, beautifully engraved, gold ring.

Bodie tried his hardest to stifle his laughter, but lost the battle. Tears ran down his face at the sight of Doyle's new adornment. He wiped away an errant drop, and slowly calmed himself down.

"I think you'd better start from the beginning mate, don't you?"

Doyle shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the movement.

"It seemed a good idea after a few of jugs of sangria, but I forgot to count the brandy chasers as well," he said ruefully. "I met a couple of Swedish girls, reps for a holiday company; we went out a couple of times. They had piercings . . ."

At this Bodie raised his elegant brows. "And Raymond, how did you find this out? I hope you didn't force your attentions on them," he smirked.

Doyle sighed heavily. "There may have been a smattering of attraction," he admitted.

Bodie collapsed with laughter. "Smattering," he spluttered, "that's priceless!"

Doyle continued. "Anyway, Elsa showed me hers one night!" There was another strangled cough from Bodie. Doyle looked at the burly man who by this time was helpless with laughter.

"Shall I continue or will you make up your own version?" Doyle enquired with as much sarcasm as he could manage.

"No, no please go on," Bodie replied, "this is definitely worth listening to!"

"Anyway," said Doyle heavily, "Elsa had several piercings and they looked good. Delicate little gold studs and rings through her ears, her belly button and nose. You don't want to know where Inga's piercing was. Make your eyes water," he added. "I said I might get one done when I got home. I bought a lovely little gold ring 'cos I've always fancied having my ear pierced, but Elsa said why wait, she'd do it for me. She'd done her own, see, so I thought she knew what she was doing. We went out, I had too much to drink, and woke up the following morning with my nipple pierced! Elsa said it was more of a blokey thing than an ear piercing. Trouble was she hadn't cleaned the area, or shaved the hair off and told me later she used an ice cube and a darning needle!"

Doyle heard his partner's sharp intake of breath, as he imagined the scene.

"Must've hurt mate. My mum used to darn my dad's socks, and the needle was fuckin' enormous!"

Doyle nodded in agreement. "Can't say I remember too much, which is probably a good thing, but I don't reckon she sterilised it either. That's what's caused all this," he said looking down at his damaged chest. "I thought it would heal up, so I just put some cream on it, but when I got in this morning I was in agony. Thought I'd get to work and then slip off . . . oh fuck you know the rest!"

"I think the Cow knows", said Bodie. "Grant was talking to him, and he seemed to lose it for a moment; then Grant said something and he laughed!"

Doyle groaned, unhappy with adding his boss's displeasure to his predicament.

"I don't reckon he'll make much of it though," said Bodie, continuing. "Whatever Grant said made him howl – he almost had tears running down his face. Probably got you off a dressing down anyway. Look mate, I'm off now. I'll drop by your place and bring you a set of clean clothes, and I guess, pick you up tomorrow."

Doyle yawned and snuggled down under the bedclothes. "Yeah mate, I'll catch you tomorrow . . . and Bodie, thanks."

The next morning Doyle was checked over by the duty doctor, and told to wait for Mr Grant. All the paperwork had to be correct and signed off before Doyle could leave. He got himself out of bed, grabbed a towel and walked along to the bathroom. Ten minutes under the shower, and he felt much better. The infection around his nipple was less angry, and the swelling had begun to lessen. Gingerly, Doyle touched the small gold ring. It was quite thick, and engraved with tiny little symbols around the outside. He had thought initially he would take the ring out and let his chest heal, but decided he actually quite liked it. After all the trouble it had caused he thought he may as well keep it.

Not realising the effect his half naked body was having on the female members of staff, he sauntered back to his room, catching sight of Bodie coming through the doors. Together they arrived at Doyle's room, along with two nurses.

"Come on Mr Doyle, we're going to check over the wound and get you ready to leave," said the nursing sister. "My colleague is training so if you're happy for her to observe, we'll start."

Bodie turned on his megawatt smile for both women. "Ladies, be gentle with him please. Poor wounded little soldier!"

Doyle sighed heavily. It was clear his 'injury' was going to be a source of amusement for Bodie for quite a while. He lay back on the bed and let the senior nurse do her work. Her cool hands felt good on the hot skin of his chest, and it was only a few minutes before she declared herself satisfied with the cleanliness and healing of the small wound. The trainee nurse watched carefully, noting her colleague's skills.

The sister spoke. "I'll just get your antibiotics Mr Doyle, and then you can go. Mr Grant is on the ward and will be with you soon. Alice," she said, addressing the trainee nurse, could you just clear up these dressings, and make sure Mr Doyle has help getting his shirt on?"

She left the room. Doyle swung his legs off the bed and pulled the curtains round. He carefully dressed in the fresh clothes Bodie had got from his flat, taking care not to touch his sore chest. Once ready, he poked his head round the curtains. As expected, Bodie was apparently charming the young nurse into giving him her number. They both looked up at Doyle, as he pushed the curtains back. The nurse stared at him, standing there with his shirt open, with the gold ring shining in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"It is pretty," she said softly, staring at Doyle's chest. "But it must've hurt. What made you do it?"

Doyle grinned at her, embarrassed.

"No idea love," he said. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it though. It's caused me quite a bit of trouble, and certain people," he said, glowering at Bodie, "won't let it lie!"

Alice smiled at him. "You should keep it. It's sort've different, and once the inflammation goes, it'll be fine. Sets you apart from the crowd a bit as well," she remarked.

Bodie's expressive brows arched at her comments, and he chuckled quietly. She left the room, and Doyle looked at his partner. "What's tickled your fancy mate?"

Bodie mimicked Alice "Sets you apart from the crowd," he said. "She obviously has no idea your sense of dress, temper, unruly grooming and all those other endearing little traits you have set you apart from the crowd!"

Doyle smiled "Well you've either got it or you haven't mate," he answered. "I'm clearly different to the men she normally hangs round with and . . . "

"By at least ten years," interrupted Bodie wickedly. "And I have Sister's number," he finished, waving a small card at Doyle. "A little older, more experienced and single. Just my type in fact," he finished.

"Yeah," said Doyle, "she's breathing!" He wasn't going to let Bodie off that easily!

Just then the door opened and Mr Grant walked in. He caught sight of Doyle and chuckled. "You'll be more careful next time I hope," he said, pointing at the piercing. "You were lucky. You only had a mild case of septicaemia. It could have been much, much worse. I've written you up a prescription for some strong antibiotics, and some cream, to keep the soreness at bay. No reason why you can't go back to work immediately, but tell George that a day or two of gentle action in the filing department will help the healing process!"

Doyle managed to look crestfallen and pitiful at the same time.

"I'm in a spot of bother with him," he muttered. "Should've been on active service yesterday, and as this," he said, pointing at his chest, "is self inflicted; I'm definitely in his bad books."

The consultant guffawed with laughter. "Don't worry about that," he remarked. "If George does chew you out, just ask him the circumstances surrounding 'Scotland Forever'. I guarantee he won't carry on with any reprimands. And tell him I'll buy him a bottle of Taliskers if he behaves himself!" He turned to leave the room.

Both agents looked at the consultant somewhat bewildered. He stopped and looked at them, his eyes tearing with laughter. "Malta! 1945! Tattoo! Arse!" He left the room chortling loudly to himself.

Bodie looked at Doyle. "I'm sure I do understand that, but I'm pretty certain I don't want to know," he murmured.

Doyle shook his head. "Sounds to me like our lovely leader has a dark secret. Ammo to use against him when I want a raise," he added cheerfully. "C'mon sunshine, let's get out of here. Time to put some bad guys behind bars."

The End


End file.
